A Motorcycle's Roar
by fidelis5588
Summary: We come into this story with a depressed Undertaker, and listen in as he thinks back to his bad teenaged years, and the valuable friends he made along the long, hard road of life. Note: It's only rated M for language!


Title- The Roar of a Motorcycle

Author- Fidelis5588

RatingOh, I'd guess PG to PG-13, on account 'O the language.

Disclaimer- Disclaimer: I don't own the WWE, the Undertaker, or anything else. (Heck, if I owned 'Taker, I wouldn't be writing fanfic, I'd be to busy drooling over him.) So don't sue me, because I ain't making any money off a this!

Author's Notes: This was my very first fanfiction. I have no clue where this one came from, but I like it. Read, and review. I would be absolutely thrilled if my inbox was filled to overflowing with constructive criticism and the like.

**The Roar of a Motorcycle**

"Why do ya like motorcycles so much mistah Under-taka?"

I heard a little voice ask me. I looked down to see a young, wide-eyed boy of eight or nine. He was wearing a black 'Eyes of the Deadman' sweatshirt and blue jeans. Giving him a small smile and patting his slightly shaggy brown head, I signed the picture of me he had given me to autograph. I was another one of those autograph sessions, I love seeing the fans, they always cheer me up. But around that time, I'd just been feeling a little down. So when my manager called me the day before and told me I had to be in montana for a signing the next day, I wasn't thrilled, another 10 hour flight, wonderful. I had been looking forward to spending the weekend with my family, and now I was stuck in montana. I shook myself and looked back at the boy. What had he asked? Oh yes, why I loved motorcycles.

"You wouldn't understand kid," I heard myself saying, "It's just something I like." His big brown eyes held a tiny bit of hurt. I felt my heart melt, I didn't want to disappoint the little fella. But really, I couldn't tell him the truth.

"I like the feel of a Harley when I'm speeding down the road, it's like I'm flyin' " The boy gave me a knowing glance, took up his now signed picture, he was holding it like it was made of gold. "Thanks 'Taka!" He gave me a smile that lit up his whole face and ran off, jumping into the arms of a man I guess was his father, happily waving the photo in his face.

I quickly finished up the signing, autographing excited fans' pictures and answering the sometimes strange questions they often asked me. That night, as I retired to my hotel room, the question the boy had asked me still was on my mind. After showering and giving Sara a call, I sat on my bed and flipped on the television. After a few minutes of futile searching for something to watch, I just left it on some boring weather channel.

Reclining back on the bed, and putting both arms behind my head so that my elbows stuck out, my mind wandered back many years...

I was 15, cold hungry, and exhausted. I had run away from home for the second time, seeking a place in life. Teenage years are either the best years of your life or the worst, and up until then, mine certainly weren't the best. I had a hole in me. I did not know where I belonged, I didn't even know if I had a purpose in life. I feared that I was doomed to be a wanderer for the rest of my life. Never being content. But then there was the reason I ran away from home, I was so bored of my monotonous life, staying in the same place all the time, doing the same things, being with the same people. I thought what I needed was adventure. And for a few weeks that cured me. I was happy, alone, on the road. But then I started feeling that hole again, this time worse than ever, so I returned home. But still I was unhappy, I just couldn't find a place that soothed me. And now I had run away again, I thought this time it was for real, because I was happy and content for a few months. But then that damned hole crept back into my heart. I knew going home was only a temporary cure, so I just walked from town to town. Besides. I had run away twice now. My parents wouldn't want me back, would they?

I even considered suicide a couple of times, when the pain got really bad I occasionally would cut myself, but never to the point that I would die from blood loss. I was large for my age, and my muscles seemed to be huge even though I had no access to a gym. Though I was always walking... And I was always hungry, sometimes I had to steal food, sometimes a kind stranger would offer me some. But I was always starving, physically as well as mentally. I was hungry for peace, because this black hole inside of me was eating me alive.

One day I was hanging around the back of an old diner in the middle of nowhere, hoping to find some food in the dumpster. There was this terrible stench, you know that greasy smell. I couldn't tell my scent apart from the scent that was exuding from this green dumpster I was rooting around in, but I'm sure we both smelled about the same.. I couldn't find anything edible, and so I returned to the front of the diner. Parked there were about a dozen motorcycles, most Harley's, and they came in all shapes and sizes. I fell in love with them right away. I walked up to a large one with red flames on its sides. I was so enthralled by it as I rubbed my hands along it affectionately, that I didn't notice a large man standing beside me.

"What the hell do you think yer doin'?" I heard a voice bellow out, at the same time I was knocked to the ground. "I...I," I looked up at a middle aged biker, dressed all in leather with a blue bandana wrapped around his long black hair. Cracking his knuckles and glaring he yelled again.

"What were ya doing messin' wit my bike?"

"Calm down Reggie," I saw an even bigger man walk up beside the one who was poised to hit me. He had green eyes that sparkled kindly. "He was just admirin' it," he glanced at me quickly, "Right boy?"

"Yeah, didn't mean no harm." I took the hand the largest man offered me and got to my feet, dusting off my hopelessly dirtied clothes. They had been dirty before, and my dumpster diving hadn't helped matters."I think it's a gorgeous bike, I guess it's yours?" I looked at the man who had almost decked me. He glared and spat some tobacco out unto the dirt at my feet. "Yeah it's mine, you gud fer nothing. Don't be touching it no more. Ya got that?"

"Yessir, I'm sorry." the larger man patted me on the back and then looked around. During our little spat, the rest of the biker gang had come out, some were cranking up their bikes, others were standing around, I guess hoping that a fight between me and Reggie would break out.

"Break it up, get those Harley's started you lazies!" My savior yelled and the gawkers immediately turned to their bikes. I looked with new respect at the man, figuring he must be the leader of this gang.

"Thanks for that..." I waved my hand around, though I didn't really expect the man to be listening to me. It was clear they were on their way out. "I thought I was a goner."

"Aw, Rege wouldn't hurt a fly." I looked with some doubt at the man who was now running his hands over that bike, reassuring himself that nothing had been damaged on it.

"I'm Undertaker. This is my gang. Mostly they won't hurt you, but they are protective of their bikes." I looked around at the crew of bikers. All of them wore leather, and most had tattoos. Undertaker had more than any of them. His light brown hair caught the setting sun, and if it hadn't been braided back light it was, I suppose it would have been a little longer than shoulder length. With his imposing stature, I can see why he was the leader.

"What're you doin' out here son?" He asked as he started to look over his bike, inspecting it. He was down on his knees, running his hands over the chrome parts of his machine. I could tell he was half-listening to me, half wanting to leave.

"I kinda ran away from home." I spoke reluctantly. This man had been kind enough, but the looks Reggie were sending me were enough to make me want to leave before I really did something to piss them off. "I was looking for food, in the... in the..."

"Dumpster?" he interrupted. I nodded and looked down at the ground. I felt a large hand on my shoulder. "Been there, done that." I looked up. He was back on his feet, once more towering over me. He looked me over and shook his head. "Shabby." he gave me a light poke in the ribs. I guess I did look shabby, too. My jeans were faded and ripped almost to shreds. The gray 'T' I was wearing was too small for me, and it too, was torn at the seams. "And underfed. Tell ya what," he scratched at the stubble on his chin. "You can ride with me and my gang for a while, we'll toughen you up right quick. Whada'ya say?"

I looked up with hope in my eyes and my heart, and for the first time in months I actually smiled. "I'll take that as a yes then. Hop on." He said, climbing unto his bike. I followed suite, mounting up behind him. The other members of the gang murmured, but held their peace, guess they knew not to mess with Undertaker.

I felt the engine rev to life under me, purring like a huge cat. A rush of exhilaration shot through my body as we got unto the almost empty highway and shot along at a good speed. I started yelling for joy as I felt happiness surge through my body. Letting out a whoop I urged my newfound friends to go faster. Laughing good-naturedly they increased their speed until trees and telephone polls were whipping by at a phenomenal rate. We rode all the rest of that day, and late into the night. I realized with joy that where the hole had been, there was only contentment. Finally I had found where I belonged, on the open road, racing along with the wind in my hair was my true place in life. But in the pit of my stomach, I held that fear. Would this too, be only temporary relief from my seemingly-unending pain? I would just have to wait and see.

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The months flew by, and a few years passed, all the while I was happier than I had ever been. Running into Undertaker was the best thing that ever happened to me. I barely thought of what I used to be.. He and his gang taught me how to fight, and how to ride. I learned that I was actually good for something. The gang really did toughen me up, I got in more scuffles with rival gangs than I care to mention. Under the direction of 'Taker and the rest of the gang, I was taught every fighting move in the book. After a while I was generally accepted and even adopted by the gang. They treated me just like one of them, and I found peace. We traveled the country, never staying long in one place, I saw more things in a few years than most people see in their entire lives.

My first fight happened a few months after I had joined up with Undertaker and his gang, we were riding down a pretty busy highway, so all the guys were on alert. Everyone knows motorcycles are dangerous, and with all the cars and semi's surrounding us, we wanted to be sure none of our men were hurt. That day I was riding with a guy by the name of Leo. He was a medium sized guy, with dark brown eyes and crew cut. The thing you noticed about this guy right away was that he had a crooked nose. And when I say crooked, I mean crooked. He looked like he had been hit in the nose one two many times. And yet, leo had the best smeller of anyone else in the whole gang. I gripped his grimy leather vest as we rode along, trying to avoid the stares of families on their summer vacations. "Lion!" I yelled above the roar of the engine and the other cars.

"Yeah hobo?" He yelled back, not taking his eyes of off an approaching group of strange bikers. In the recent weeks, most of the guys had taken to calling me either 'Hobo' or just 'hob'. I didn't mind one bit, I felt that my getting a nickname was sort of like an initiation into the group. I had ridden with Leo several times, and we were fairly good friends.

"Uh, never mind..." I trailed off as the group of motorcyclists approached from the rear. The lead one, a dark looking guy with dread-locks and a black T-shirt started yelling at us to 'get out 'ta way.'

I wriggled nervously in my seat. We were at the back of the group, along with Reggie. Our gang always rode in pairs, six rows of two motorcycles each. We rode that way partially for safety and I think because they liked to talk a little. Even on a motorcycle, long trips without stops could get tedious and boring. I looked ahead to the front of the group. Undertaker was almost always was riding in the first or second row, and right now, he was oblivious to the fact that we were in danger. I looked around Leo's shoulder, back at the other gang. They were a little larger than us, and I was scared. Several other guys in the group noticed, and traded looks with one another. They were old hands at dealing with other gangs, and didn't seem to phased by these cocky young bikers. They simply ignored their threats.

But dread-lock boy wouldn't have it, oh no. He continued cussing up a storm, and accelerated his bike, until he was up along side us, going the wrong way down the empty high-way. "I said, get outta the way you fuck-wits!"

"Yeah, sure buddy." I heard one of the guys yell. 'Taker raised one fist in the air, a signal we all knew well. We turned sharply to the left, going off the highway into a field and skidding to halt. Everyone dismounted, and stood in a ring, staring down the other gang. That open space was the perfect battle field, Reggie said later. The other gang took the challenge, and pulled up into the field, cut of their bikes, and approached us. Some less than savory words were exchanged, 'Taker cracking his knuckles all the while. It appeared peace could not be made, and a fight soon broke out. I was petrified, and just stood in the middle of it all in shock. Then, somebody took a swing at me, and without even thinking, I blocked their punch and decked them, square on the nose. Grinning, I looked at my fists with new-found awe, and jumped right into the fray. I remember someone grabbed me from behind, and I just threw him off my back like he was nothing. The fight didn't last long, five minutes, maybe. We quickly over-powered them. They were mostly young guys, may age or a little older, who thought they were all that. They weren't. 'Taker, Reggie, me, and the rest of the gang whuped their asses sound. I got out of the fight with a busted lip and two black eyes, but it was the first time I actually realized just how very big I was. It was a heck of a lot of fun, and that gang never bothered nobody again.

One day, we were passing through my hometown, and my dark months as a starving teenager forgotten, I asked the gang to stop by my house. They waited on the lawn while I knocked on my door. My mom answered.

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowing as she saw the motorcycles and their owners in her front yard.

"Mum, don't ya know yes' own son?" I grinned at her.

"Mark?" She searched my face and her eyes widened in realization. "Oh my God baby!" She rushed forward and caught me in a hug. Well, I should say I caught her. I had grown up very fast in those past years, with proper feeding I had filled out and was now the third largest man in the group. I gripped my mothers tiny frame tightly, rocking her from side to side as she started to cry.

"We thought you was dead!" she wailed into my chest as I beckoned for the rest of the gang to come inside. There was a little commotion as a dozen leather clad men poured into the quaint little house. They looked so out of place it was laughable as they perched on little couches surrounded my mothers collection of antiques and little glass figurines.

I sat her down on the couch and told her the whole story, how Undertaker had found me and saved me from my self-destructive life. How he and the gang had took me in and how I had found a meaning and a passion for my life. She took it all very well, even made us all dinner. We stayed for a few days but it was cramped, what with a dozen gruff bikers used to the open road stuffed into one country home. There was a little trouble over my mothers 'No booze' rule, but other than that they and my mother got along quite well. After few days I told my friends to come back in about a month. I stayed with my mom and finally got forgiveness from my father, who was still bitter. To my surprise I felt just fine staying in the house for the first few weeks, but by the end of the month, I was ready to hit the open road once more.  
I was overjoyed to see Undertaker and the gang, but the real surprise was what they brought with them. A Harley, my very own motorcycle. It was gorgeous, shiny chrome, a black body with the 'T' symbol of our gang emblazoned in red on it's gas tank. That bike was my pride and joy, I never had another bike I loved as much as that one. I still have it, but I only ride it once in a great while. See, those years I'd been riding with the gang I always rode either with Undertaker or one of the other guys. They didn't mind, but after a while I'm sure they wanted to ride alone. Now they could. I jumped around whooping like an Indian on the war path, and we set off at once, riding faster than we ever had.

Another time I remember well, was my first tattoo. We were passing through Atlanta, Georgia. They've got a friend who has a parlor there, and It just so happens, that's the only place where our gang get's their Tat's done. I was standing off in the corner, watching while Leo got his older Tattoos touched up.. Undertaker was standing next to me, and I suddenly spurted out. "I want a tattoo."

"You sure?" He'd asked, looking serious. "It's a really big decision. Once you get it, It ain't never gonna go away.

"I'm sure." I said quickly. 'Taker just shook his head, and the next day, I was seated in that very chair. All the guys were there, encouraging me. My stomach was in knots, and I was cold and clammy to the touch. But I knew what I wanted, and I was determined to go through with it. The first prick of the needle made me jump, and Stan, the guy working my tattoo, cocked and eyebrow and drew back for a second. "You sure you want this?" He asked. "I'm positive." He hunched his shoulders and started again. This time, I didn't jump and shrink away from the stinging needle. About an hour later, I had a small black scull on my lower arm. It would be hidden most of the time by the gloves I usually wore, but I didn't get it for looks. Getting a tattoo's really not as bad as they make it out to be, I realized; if you could sit still for a long time, you'd be fine.

I rode with my gang for several more years after that. Returning to visit my parents at least once a year, and staying with them longer and longer each time without feeling the need to get back on the road. The guys grew very fond of my mother, they even named her 'Gang Mum'. My brothers taught me everything they knew, but finally, I had to take my leave of them. I knew I couldn't ride with my gang forever, I had found the one thing that kept me happy, but I needed to settle down, well not ito/I settled. Which I why I picked wrestling, I was already good at fighting, and I had a special name all picked out. Eventually I met Sara, and we were married. Now I'm covered in ink, and I have Sara's name tattooed on my throat. Boy, did that one hurt like hell. I still go riding with what's left of my old biker brothers, and I am still eternally grateful for what they did. They took me in, and they raised me. Undertaker saved my life, without him, I would probably be dead right now. I can go a long time without feeling that hole now. I found that wrestling is the one other thing I can do with passion. But when I'm down, I know it's because I need to get back on my bike and just ride.

"That's what's wrong with you, you big lug." I mumbled happily as I came back to myself. I hadn't been on a good ride for more than six months, my schedule had been so hectic. No wonder I was down in the dumps. I decided right then and there never to go that long without taking the time to do the thing I love most. Shifting to lay on my side I pulled the covers over my head and drifted off to sleep, happy with the fact that soon I could get out on the highway and ride my Harley-Davidson for everything it was worth.  
So don't ask me why I'm like this, because I sure as hell don't have a clue. Maybe everyone has something that lets them keep going. Maybe I'm just a little bit crazy, whatever the reason, I just know that my happiest moments in life were spent lost on the road, with my brothers.

_Finis_


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